After the Apocalypse
by Sylvia Sterling
Summary: Years after the Almost Apocalypse, Aziraphale sits missing Crowley. CA slash, as I love it. I also love feedback.


**Author's Note: My second GO fic, whee! Aziraphale's POV this time. Enjoy. I do love reviews. hint**

**After the Apocalypse**

Aziraphale sighed. He sat with his chin in one hand, his eyes bloodshot, his golden curls in disarray. His sweater was also quite rumpled.

He missed his demon.

It was several years after What Was Supposed to be Armageddon, But Was Really Just a Great Misunderstanding, and he admitted it. He, Aziraphale, missed Crowley like H--something that rhymes with "fell."

It wasn't as though they hadn't spent time apart. They had, of course. So why was it so important now? He suspected, obviously. You couldn't go thousands of years without knowing what l--strong feelings of this nature, he meant--were. He groaned.

Angels were meant to love. There, he said it. But they weren't supposed to love Demons! He hadn't eaten, slept, or even breathed in quite a few years. (Not that he needed to, of course. But if he had needed to, he wouldn't have.) All for thinking about Crowley.

Why doesn't he call? the Angel thought miserably. He could at least let me know he hasn't been...whatever serves for being killed.

Ding.

Aziraphale did not look up. Just another customer. Nasty buggers, he mused.

DING.

The bell rang more insistently. "Go away!" called the Angel.

The door opened. Aziraphale still did not look up.

"Now you've gone and hurt my feelings," said a familiar, smirking voice.

It was too good to be true. Just another fantasy. He sighed. Like all the others. "I said go away," he muttered glumly.

Now the voice was filled with genuine hurt. "But...I missed you, Angel."

Aziraphale's head shot up. "Crowley!" he squeaked, standing and knocking over a pile of books as he half-ran to the Demon.

"The one and only," Crowley said, reassuming his grin.

"Got that right," Aziraphale said softly.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, dear."

"Right. It's been too long, hasn't it? You," he took in the Angel's appearance, "certainly look...different."

Aziraphale blushed slightly. "Err."

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him.

I've been here all the time, Crowley, I've waited and waited for you, and this is what comes of it, he wanted to say. He bit his tongue.

"Uh. I missed you," he ventured instead.

"Did you?" Crowley showed no trace of real interest.

Aziraphale's heart sank. "Yes. I did." He blinked unhappily.

"Ssssss," said Crowley.

The Angel blinked. He'd always thought it was cute when Crowley hissed. He took a step closer.

Crowley looked surprised. "Um," he said.

Aziraphale stared. It seemed he was no longer in control of his own body. No matter how hard his mind protested, his body went straight on. He saw his hand reach up and pull off Crowley's dark glasses, idly tossing them aside. ("Now see here!" said his mind in anguish.)

Crowley shuddered and drew in a sharp breath. He automatically reached up to cover his eyes.

Aziraphale's hand tugged Crowley's away from those stunning yellow eyes. Yellow eyes which now stared deep into blue ones.

The Demon looked at his dark, rough hand, now caught in the grasp of a pale, perfect one. He swallowed. It was moving fast, even for him.

For the Angel, time stood still. (It is worth noting that Time always stands still in these instances, except for the rare case of Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet, during which Time stood on its head and sipped a martini.)

"Why not?" murmured Crowley, slipping his free hand around his Heavenly counterpart's waist.

Said Heavenly counterpart couldn't have been happier unless Crowley had said something Crowleyish. Which, at that moment, he did. How very convenient.

"Hey, Angel. What say we head upstairs?"

"I do think that would be rather delightful."

To H--Heav--SOMEWHERE with it all! This wasn't so bad, really, and the Big Man Upstairs was bound to understand. It was all ineffable, right?

Crowley's tongue was making a smooth, warm journey around his ear. He sat up, smiling madly.

"Why the rush, Angel?" asked a bemused, tousle-haired Crowley. "We got all the time in the world, you and me."

Aziraphale turned to face his lover. He pushed him back down against the pillows and commenced kissing him, first fully on the mouth, then everywhere.

"Wow," said Crowley, when his Angel was finished. "You definitely didn't do that last night!"

"I know," he said, smirking playfully. "I just felt like it was a good idea, that's all."

"I really like your good ideas, baby."


End file.
